One Word | H.S.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Pretty Boy's POV

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Truth.

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Cade and I have been staring at each for the past ten minutes, both dead fuckin' silent.

Between the aggressive bouncing of my leg, and the swaying back-and-forth of Blonde Fuck's body, we look as though we are about to murder one another.

The television is switched off, though I'm sure one could hear a deafening white noise, a barbaric static from the tension in the air.

I don't like this, and I hate him.

Bringing the glass bottle to his lips, Cade sips on his piss-water, his eyes narrowing to me, "Stop." I breathe out, blondie nearly finishing his entire drink in one gulp, "No." He inches forward, an irritated scoff escaping my throat.

It's been a solid, three days since the puncturing of scarlet, my mind stained by my own personal Red.

Replaying a certain song on repeat, a mysterious tune, my record player is nearing extinction, the overuse being the only source of soothing to my fogged, love-struck mind.

Like-struck.

You also haven't had a sip of Balvenie in three days. Intoxicated by a certain somebody?

The simplicity, yet sheer agony of Red's words, the power she held over my shattering mind in a time of dire need, a moment of utter weakness.

She's an absolute mind-fuck, completely head-ached after each encounter, every damn time I get lucky enough to see her.

God, she's so fuckin' unique, edged by a distraught past, yet shaped to near perfection. Never faltering, she presses on with a sense of strength, a desire to move forward.

Levi would've absolutely adored her, admired the wit in her curt responses. Fascinated by the natural beauty that isn't self-recognized, enthralled by her incessant need to confuse any, and every little thing.

Probably would have paired us on a secret date, left the room in a mischievous manner as he plays matchmaker.

I've been playing matchmaker since that night at the bar. Give credit where credit is due, dick.

Cade collapses back onto the loveseat, a finger pressed against his flattened lips, "Wanna tell me what hap—," He starts, though I'm quick to see where this conversation is going, "—No." I flash a cheeky grin, sarcasm laced behind the expression as he shakes his head.

Blondie has been pestering me relentlessly, following my every move as he demands answers, explanation as to why Red was here.

Probably would've gotten away with it, that is if he wasn't to have walked in.

-

Our bodies stay cascaded on the chilling ground, exhaustion coercing through our honest veins as the clock strikes six in the morning. Unholy hours of the evening, per-say.

Neither of us have bothered, or attempted to speak, the intertwining of our hands speaking louder than words ever could.

I don't even know what to say, how to feel, the correct way to emote.

A mix between a ferocious rage and a shattering heart, knowing Red has gone through so much, seen things many should never have to, destroys me.